In a Thousand Lives I Leave You
by xIrelandx
Summary: UPDATE: formatting issues fixed! / Phoenix has the worst kinds of nightmares - the ones that could happen, and very probably will.


Apollo couldn't handle the pressure anymore, of being asked to sit and wait and hold back on how he felt. The idea of waiting another day, of trying to hold on to the precious hope with which he'd been given, was torture in and of itself. It was cruel to make him stay put. Phoenix knew it, and yet he couldn't stop it. He'd discussed some time ago with a friend of his, one who'd also found themselves yearning for a much older mentor (by over twenty years, in Luke's case). Luke had grown to be a bitter adult, and suggested that Apollo leave and go as far as he could.

Apollo was lost, perhaps as much as Luke had been in his youth. Apollo simply couldn't leave. Not when there were so many _not here, not now_s as opposed to the much simpler _never_s Luke had always received. Apollo told them both that this was the difference between Luke's situation and his own, but Luke only graced him with a sad smile and a shake of the head. But it was easy for Luke to judge; he had a wife and children now, and even before then a family to retreat to.

Apollo had nothing and nobody. Phoenix, Trucy, the Agency – this was the closest he had to family, to love. And then Athena came. And then Phoenix got his job back. And then Miles Edgeworth re-entered the picture. And then, so did Maya and Pearl Fey. Everything began to converge and collect, and things were getting better for Phoenix.

Apollo, on the other hand, found himself slowly disappearing. He was being left behind slowly but surely. He'd come so close to walking out the door; but every time his hand touched the handle, he caught Phoenix's eyes. And something in them, for some reason, kept Apollo in his place.

He was sitting on the couch, listening to his three friends, his patchwork family, chatter to each other as he stared off into space, dreaming of a universe in which he wasn't a stand-in for someone else.

Abruptly, Apollo stood, and moved to his room in the dingy flat. He hadn't meant to live with them, and as humiliation and anger began to take control, Apollo found that it was one of the worst decisions he made. How could he have possibly been so stupid?

Phoenix stood behind him, silent, hand still lingering on the door he'd closed. Apollo wasn't sure what to say. "Stay," Phoenix asked. "Please."

There was, maybe, some sort of emotion there, but it sounded so hollow in Apollo's ears. Perhaps because he'd steeled himself for this, determined to make it all the way this time.

But still, Apollo was a sucker for second and third chances, a sucker for happy endings. "Why?"

Phoenix licked his lips, unable to put his thoughts to words, and the part of Apollo that had lied dormant for the past year and a half awoke and reared its ugly head. "I can't keep doing this. Pretending I don't want you. Pretending I don't feel the heat between us when we accidentally brush hands. Pretending I somehow belong here."

"But you do." _More empty words from an empty person_, Apollo thought cruelly.

Aloud, he only said, "You won't follow me."

"I can't," Phoenix offered.

"You won't," Apollo corrected.

Apollo had only packed what was necessary, brushing past his mentor and boss – no longer could he consider him friend or love – and slipping through the hallway. If Athena or Trucy noticed his departure, they didn't raise alarm. Apollo could feel something like panic engulf his heart, and in that moment he hated them all – though no more than he hated himself.

He'd forgone his coat despite the slight bite in the air. He remembered reading German poetry about an elf king stealing a sick child's life on a night such as this, and Apollo wondered with grim intrigue if there was some similar creature who preyed on heartbroken fools.

The suitcase he abandoned along the side of the bridge as he peered over it, contemplating the life he had left. He hadn't told Phoenix about the arsenic poisoning – it simply didn't seem relevant. To their case, perhaps, but Apollo was just another casualty. To be treated as a dead body, and nothing else. Perhaps then Phoenix would pay him the attention he'd always longed for, instead of feeling the man's eyes graze over him like a dull razorblade.

"You don't have to leave." Apollo is surprised to see Phoenix, slightly out of breath, reach out for him. Apollo backs away, wordless and shaking his head.

"I have thought about it, before," Apollo explains. "Started to, so many times, but you kept drawing me back. And I'm such an idiot, for ever thinking things could change."

"It's not –"

"The right time," Apollo finishes, quietly. "It never has been, Mr. Wright. It never will be." Phoenix has to tilt his head at the unnecessary formality. "But I can't wait for the right time to come, anymore. Maybe I was happy to, once –"

Phoenix tries to kiss, movements languid and slow as if out of his control. Apollo pushes him gently, ducking his head away. "No, don't," he says. He's smiling oddly up Phoenix, his eyes lined with water. "Not that I haven't dreamed of that, forever, but I'm afraid it's not altogether safe."

"What do you mean?"

Apollo's vision starts to fade, and he can feel himself tremble. He slumps slightly, leaning forward onto Phoenix. "I'm afraid I'm just another casualty," the smile is sad and soft. Worst of all, it's genuine.

Phoenix's movements grow ever slower, trying to catch Apollo as he falls and not making it in time. Reaching out to touch a face, but his hand always seems to miss –

Until the moment he wakes up, sweat staining his chest and his sleep shorts and the sheets around him. He'd had strange dreams before, but none quite as out-of-body as that. He was panting, wide eyes adjusting slowly to the objects in his room. So it was just a dream after all. Nothing to worry about.

_Fuck it_.

Phoenix doesn't bother trying to get properly dressed, even though there is a good chance Trucy is still out in the front room arguing bedtimes with Apollo, or maybe wowing him with her latest illusion. None of that matters. Nothing matters except the recurring vision in his head of anger, and heartbreak, and the shakiness in his arms from having felt it all even though no part of the dream had occurred in first person.

He ignores his daughter's boisterous greeting, eyes set firmly on the man seated next to her. Apollo's eyes widen in concern before narrowing, ready to perceive him. "Mr Wright –" Phoenix doesn't allow him the time to finish his question, cupping the younger man's jaw in his hands and dragging him into a kiss.

Phoenix is still breathing heavily, blood rushing in his ears. Apollo's tense at first, dissolving softly and slowly against his mentor's lips, his mind racing with questions that bare no relevance to the matter at hand. Neither of them hears the mewls of excitement Trucy emits at the sight before her.


End file.
